


Midnight Sun - Complications

by noonebutme



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 01:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noonebutme/pseuds/noonebutme
Summary: One shot. This is my version of the Twilight chapter entitled "Complications" from Edward's POV. It continues where Stephenie Meyer left off.





	Midnight Sun - Complications

Bella slept restlessly that night, tossing and turning, mumbling in her sleep as usual.  I was by turns irritated and amused.  Irritated because these disjointed fragments of ideas were the closest I could get to reading her thoughts uncensored, but amused at her strange ramblings about tank tops and shorts.  At one point, her face scrunched up into a childlike expression of disgust, and she very clearly said “wet green goo.”  I laughed aloud, and she had stirred, but settled back into her pillow.  I spent hours studying her as she slept, memorizing her, getting to know her.  There was a gracefulness that possessed her as she slept, evident in the curve of her elbow, the angle of her wrist, the soft movement of her chest as she breathed.  I compared this to the awkward precariousness of her movements when she was awake and smiled.  Little did she know—little did _anyone_ know besides me—how elegant and refined she was when all of her insecurities were buried beneath her subconscious.  I watched, captivated until just before dawn, when I leaned in one last time to breathe in her scent deeply, basking in the aroma and letting the fire burn throughout my body.  Reluctantly, I descended from her window and broke into a sprint toward my home.

Alice had evidently been bored the night before, because when I entered my room, I saw an ensemble already laid out for me—a hanger holding a chocolate brown shirt beneath a v-neck hunter green sweater and a pair of khaki pants was hanging over the top of my door.  On the ground were a pair of dark brown boots I’d never seen before, and my brown leather jacket was laying over the armrest of my couch.  I changed into this new outfit, and just as I was finishing, there was a light knock at my door.  I answered it to find Esme standing before me, a serene look on her face.

“Come in,” I invited, and out of habit rather than necessity, we sat beside each other on the couch.

“Edward,” she began.  “I won’t keep you, I just wanted to tell you how utterly overjoyed I am that you have finally found someone to love.”

“Thank you, Esme,” I replied, although the emotion was so clearly written on her face that seeing her mind was almost too redundant.

_I know that this is very difficult, and very painful for you.  But you are one of the few I have met who is strong enough to make this work._

“Thank you,” I whispered again.  “But I fear you give me more credit than I deserve.  It is more difficult for me than you think.”

“I think not.  I know you will do the right thing, Edward.  And I can tell, I can see it in you, that this girl has the potential to give you your long overdue and much-deserved happiness.  I am delighted, and proud to call you my son.”

I smiled indulgently at my gentle mother-figure.  She was right.  Bella certainly had the potential to give me happiness… to inspire dreams I’d never had and to make them all come true in the same breath.  I would gladly endure the scorching pain I experienced every time she came near to me if it meant I could call her mine.  And I would endure an eternity aflame if it meant that I could love her without danger.  But there would be no eternity.  Her life was on a knife’s point every second she was with me, and therefore, the day would come when I would be forced to rend her from my side.  And then eternity would be gone for us both.

**********************

Once again, I left earlier than my brothers and sisters, and raced impatiently toward Isabella.  I planned to spend today trying my best to get inside of her unusual head.  I wanted to know about her, everything about her.  I parked several blocks away, searching for Charlie’s murky thoughts to ascertain whether he had left yet.  I found his voice, and was able to decipher enough to hear that he was having an awkward conversation with his daughter.  I smiled at his good-intentioned perception of his paternal responsibilities, and his clumsiness and embarrassment in implementing them.  He was worried about Bella not wanting to go to the dance, but torn between a desire for her to have admirers, and yet terrified by the very thought of prospective suitors.  I frowned as I saw his vague idea that perhaps Mike Newton would be an appropriate choice.  I felt a pang of remorse every time his name came up, wondering if I really was keeping her from someone more appropriate.  I dismissed the thought, however, when I heard him open the door to his police cruiser, and I jolted my car into gear and flew toward the house with perfect timing.  His car had just left.  Seconds later, I chuckled as Isabella’s expectant face peered out from her bedroom window, and brightened with excitement when she saw me there.  I smiled widely, feeling a swell of joy at her reaction, and shook my head at the sound of her footsteps stumbling down the stairs.  How did she get anywhere without falling down?  She ran unthinkingly to the passenger side of my car, and flushed pink as she opened the door.  I could see the toll her restless night had taken on her evidenced through the dark circles under her glassy eyes.

“Good morning,” I said.  “How are you today?”

“Good, thank you,” she replied shyly.

“You look tired,” I said, unnecessarily.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said sheepishly, as she tossed her hair over her shoulder; the scent burned my throat, but my smile didn’t falter.

I smirked as I said, “Neither could I.”

“I guess that’s right,” she laughed.  “I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.”

“I’d wager you did,” I smiled, amused at my little inside joke—little did she know that I knew exactly how well she’d slept.

“So, what did you do last night?” she asked flippantly.

Nice try.  “Not a chance.  It’s my day to ask questions.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said self-consciously.  Her delicate eyebrows pulled together apprehensively.  The questions I had for her were innumerable, but considering her worried expression, I decided to ease her into it by starting with more straightforward questions.  I tried to guess her answers before I asked the question, keeping score of how well I could read her.

“What’s your favorite color?”  _Green_ , was my guess.

“It changes from day to day.”  I kept my poker face, though I was disappointed. 0 for 1.  But there was still hope that I could give myself partial credit.

“What’s your favorite color today?”

“Probably brown.”

_What?_   “Brown?” I asked, surprised.  I didn’t see that one coming.

“Sure.  Brown is warm.  I _miss_ brown.  Everything that’s supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here.”

_Of course!  I should have known that._   I stared into her chocolate eyes as she spoke, and saw the appeal of the color.  “You’re right,” I agreed.  “Brown is warm.”  I reached out to her and brushed her hair behind her shoulder to get a clear view of her eyes.

I challenged myself with my next question.  “What music is in your CD player right now?”

_Brahms,_ I guessed feebly.  She shocked me again by naming an obscure rock band, one of my favorites.  I opened my CD compartment and pulled it out to confirm that it really was the same.  “Debussy to this?”  0 for 2.  I was frustrated.

Throughout the day, I cheated by asking her questions where I was more confident in her answers.

“Favorite author?” _Austen._   “Austen.”  _Yes!_

“Favorite Austen novel?” _Pride and Prejudice._ “Sense and Sensibility.”  _Close enough._

“Favorite non-Austen author?”  _Charlotte Bronte._ “Bronte.”

“Which one?”  _Come on, Charlotte._   “Emily.”  _Darn.  Wuthering Heights, really?  Well, I get a point for Bronte anyway._

  Halfway through the day, I had a disappointing score of nine for thirty-nine.  Twenty-three percent.  But I was determined to raise my percentage as I tried to find patterns in her answers.

“Favorite gemstone?”  _Garnet._   “Topaz.”  _Grrr._   She blushed and refused to meet my gaze, and I found an area of opportunity.

I looked at her expectantly.  “Tell me,” I pressed, eagerly.

Without meeting my eyes, the blush on her cheeks spread all across her face and neck.  “It’s the color of your eyes today.”  I was taken aback—but she continued.  “I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I’d say onyx.”

Wow.  Hiding my disbelief was difficult, but I didn’t want to give her an opportunity to ask any questions, so I quickly went on.

“What kinds of flowers to you prefer?”

I fared slightly better at lunch, bringing my accuracy to thirty-one percent.

Then came Biology.

I knew we would be finishing the movie, and was hoping that today would be slightly easier than yesterday had been, but of course, I was wrong.  For my kind, time passes quickly—presumably a side effect of our average lifespan being… eternity.  Each hour passes by at a dizzying speed—until now.  This hour dragged on for what seemed like years.  I felt physically drawn to Bella, as she did to me.  It took great restraint for me to refrain from drawing her to me, wrapping my arms around her, feeling her warm breath against my arms, her heat against my chest.  Her soft lips…  But, infuriatingly, my fantasies would never come to be.  My embrace and caresses and kisses would crush her fragile frame into dust.  If my lips came anywhere near her throat—I shuddered at the thought and clenched my fists tighter.  If only there was some way!

I was still too overcome with conflict that I paused my line of questioning and walked Bella to her next class in silence.  Despite my promise to myself that I would never risk touching her again, my hand reached toward her face, aching to touch her skin once more.  I _could_ do this.  _Gently, gently,_ I repeated over and over again in my head as I slowly lifted my hand to her face.  Once again, I barely dusted my hand against her inviting jaw line.  I could feel her body respond to my touch, though her expression remained carefully composed.  I withdrew my hand reluctantly and started toward my Spanish classroom, not looking back.

**************

I divided my time in Spanish class by watching her through Mike Newton’s eyes in gym, and by imagining myself alone with her.  She seemed preoccupied in gym class, and Mike Newton quickly grew bored of trying to coax some conversation out of her, so for a majority of the time, I was stuck with hearing his shallow pride every time he won a game single-handedly.  I moved that scene to the picture-in-picture of my thoughts, the main show being my fantasies of the two of us together.  I saw us walking together unashamedly through the school, her hot hand inside mine.  I walk her to my car and draw her body to mine by her waist—and then I cringed in my seat when the scene ended with me crushing the life out of her with my soft, innocent touch.  I started over again.  I pull my car into her driveway.  I open her door and she climbs out of the car.  I smell her sweet breath and lower my face toward her, cradling her neck to angle it so that our lips can touch.  In less than one second, I hear a crack as her spine snaps underneath my hand and she falls limp in my arms.  I shuddered and my head fell to my hands.  I felt a nudge as Emmett kicked my foot beneath my desk.

_Cool it!  What’s the matter with you?  People are looking!_

I glanced around the room and saw a few pairs of eyes peering curiously toward me.  I threw Emmett an apologetic glance.

I glanced back to Mike’s view of Bella in gym class.  She glanced up at the clock.  From the look of it, she was wondering how much longer she would have to stand awkwardly in the corner of the badminton court before she could leave.  My lips twitched into a smile, and my visions changed.  Now, I was walking through town with Bella on my arm.  The sun shone bright and there were people bustling all around us.  We walked in and out of the shadows cast by the tall, stone buildings, and the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels rumbled through the street.  The occasional automobile clattered past us.  Bella’s hair was piled on top of her head, a few wisps dancing across her neck with each breeze.  She smiled contentedly, her cheeks flushed and her lips pink, as she looked up at me.  The white skin of her neck was covered in the ivory lace of her dress.  Her hand that curved around my arm was adorned with a diamond ring.  The oval diamond glittered in the sunlight, surrounded by a delicate web of gold that wrapped around her pale finger.  The year was 1918, and I was human.  The scene shifted from place to place—the theatre, the park, our dining room.  Our bedroom.  I had no need to restrain myself as I pulled her to me and gripped her waist tightly with one hand, while my other pulled out the comb holding her hair up.  When it cascaded in waves down her back, I moved my hand from her waist to the nape of her neck, lacing her thick hair through my fingers while my other hand played with the gentle curls.  I took her lips in mine without reserve and unbuttoned the tiny pearls at the top of her dress to reveal her alabaster throat and shoulder.  I lowered my face to the crook of her neck, and her hands pressed my head deeper against her.  I inhaled her scent as I skimmed my lips across her skin and pulled her waist against me with my full force.

Here, I stopped my daydream in its tracks.  Although my gift for mindreading came with the burden of stumbling across other people’s love—or lust—fantasies (I still had to remind Emmett and Rosalie to please be considerate of their thoughts when I was near), I was still raised to be a gentleman, and wouldn’t dare let my thoughts get out of hand.  The escape was lovely, but my return to reality was jarring.  Never would I be able to clutch Bella tightly to me.  Never would I have the control to taste her neck beneath my lips.  Never would I be able to stroll through town with her on my arm, and never would I see my mother’s ring on her left hand.

*****************

When Spanish class finally ended, I barely noticed Emmett’s disapproving look as I conspicuously sprang from my seat and darted toward the gymnasium.  I was vaguely aware that my movements were a bit too quick to appear normal to humans, but it took a great deal of self-control to walk, and not run, to what waited for me there.

Despite what I perceived to be a very long and slow journey, I still beat Bella to the door—I would have to remember that from now on.  Perhaps it would be easier to control my pace if I reminded myself that even if I moved with superhuman swiftness, Bella would still move at human speed.  _Because she is human_ , I reminded myself, irritated.  _Never forget that.  She’s only human._

I stayed an aloof 25 feet back from the door, though my impatiently searching eyes and my posture drawn toward where I knew she would emerge completely undercut the nonchalance I had been going for.  The door finally opened and Bella eagerly stumbled out, followed closely by the expected stampede of teenagers, exultant as they headed for their cars, free of the monotony… for 18 hours, anyway.  Her eyes searched for a moment, and then lit up when they found me.  Her mouth widened in a breathtaking smile, which I returned eagerly as I recklessly forgot any trace of hope I had that she would tire of me, or grow frightened of me, whichever happened first.  Her smile, to use her apt description, dazzled me.  Through the exhilaration, my frustration with her silent mind nagged at me.  I resigned myself to continue to read her thoughts manually, as it were.  But this renewed annoyance made me determined to delve deeper into her mysterious mind.  I abandoned the secret game I had been playing earlier in the day (giving myself points for every correct answer I got in my attempt to anticipate her answers to simple questions) in favor of asking her questions that had no defined answers, but that would give me a glimpse into her relationship with the world around her.  I used what I already knew to formulate these questions.

I knew she had selflessly surrendered her life in Phoenix.  I knew that her favorite color (at the moment) was brown, a direct consequence of her longing for the place in which she felt that she belonged.  Why?  What was it about that place that remained a part of her?

We walked toward each other, and when we came face to face, we wordlessly turned so that we were walking side-by-side toward the parking lot.

“You miss Phoenix.”  I resumed my line of questioning as though there had been no interruption.  “What do you miss most about it?”

Her head tilted to the side as she sifted through her mind.  “Mostly I miss my mom.”

I nodded.  Now was not the time to tell her that I knew more than she thought I did on that subject; it came up often in her sleep.

“But there are other things, too,” she continued.  She looked at me, as if she was worried about talking too much.  I held her eyes with mine for a moment, before she looked down at her hands self-consciously.

She seemed to think that she was monopolizing the conversation.  How could I make her understand that I could listen to her talk forever; that I was endlessly fascinated by her?  I resigned myself to the fact that she never would comprehend this, so I kept it simple.  “Such as…?”

“Well, a lot of things.  In Phoenix, there are open spaces.  Everything here is all cluttered by trees and rocks, and the clouds are so low and dense that I sometimes feel like they’re weighing down on me.  Back home, the horizon is actually where the sky meets the earth, not interrupted by trees and stuff.  And the sky is so wide open and clear that it feels so much bigger.  I guess it feels like I moved out of a mansion with vaulted ceilings and skylights to a dilapidated shack.  In Phoenix, everything but the sky is some shade of brown, or red or orange.  But the browns in Phoenix are rich and smooth and soft—the sand, the clay, the mesas.  There are only two browns here: the knotty, rough tree trunks, and the wet, goopy mud.  Everything else is green or grey.”  She paused self-consciously, but then her eyebrows knitted together and her head tilted as though she had just thought of something new.  “And how come everyone always thinks the ‘greenery’ is so pretty anyway?  Like the leaves and the grass and stuff.  Back home, we basically have tree trunks with no leaves and I like that better.  It’s cleaner, not so obtrusive.  All these trees hide the shape of the land, and the textures, and the sheer size of the earth.  And sometimes I feel like I can almost drink the moisture these trees emanate, but back home, it’s dry, it just leaves you alone.”  I smiled at her descriptions and her unlikely explanations.  I’d heard the thoughts of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people in my time, and yet I’d never met anyone whose thoughts I could compare with hers.  Of course, I’d encountered people who vaguely share her opinion, but she was so aware, so innocent, so intuitive, so honest, so… irresistible.  She used her small hands to describe the juxtaposition of the hills and the valleys, and her eyes lit up as she revisited in her mind what was clearly still her home.  I liked seeing her like this—face flushed and aglow, healthy-looking, and happy.  I probed her for any minute detail I could think of in order to keep her mind in Phoenix; to prolong her contagiously enthusiastic mood for as long as possible.  This uncensored flow of thought was the closest I’d gotten to reading her mind, and what I saw… well, love was too bland a word.  Adore, worship, crave, no superlative was strong enough to apply.  All I could think was that I was addicted—giving her up, breaking from her spell, living without her by my side—was no longer an option.  No matter how dangerous, how unhealthy, how wrong it was, my life was now consumed by her.

And, yet, a tiny part of my mind reminded me that I would be separated from her.  How many years did I have with her? 60, 70, 80 if I was very lucky?  I cursed my immortality and felt a small pang of despair.  I tried to put that thought away for now, and as she spoke, it was easy to do.

I mentally cringed as I heard the crescendo of Charlie’s car as it came closer and closer to the house.  His blurry thoughts became clearer the closer he got.  I was amused to here that he had but one thing on his mind: dinner.

My short pause as I listened was enough to break Bella from her reverie, and she suddenly seemed to snap back into the real world, and blushed.

“Are you finished?” she asked hopefully.

_Ha!_   “Not even close—but your father will be home soon.”

“Charlie!” she cried, as though she had forgotten his existence.  “How late is it?”

For some reason—perhaps the reminder that she had to be fed—the hopeless reality of her mortality, and I stared out the windshield, and couldn’t hide my despondency.

“It’s twilight,” I said, mostly to myself.  I saw the curiosity in her eyes, and I explained, “It’s the safest time of day for us.  The easiest time.  But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night.”  The return of the night.  The inevitability of the end.  “Darkness is so predictable, don’t you think?”  I forced a smile, hoping it would conceal the deeper meaning of my words.

“I like the night,” she said, surprising me.  “Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.  Not that you see them here much.”  I laughed, relieved that she had taken me literally, and enchanted by her unpredictable optimism.  She had taken me literally, right?

Charlie’s car was approaching, and I could sense that Bella had no intention of telling her father about me.  I felt a pang of disappointment as her response to my reminder and subsequent hint at my hope to be introduced to her father was, “Thanks, but no thanks.”  I knew that the more people that got to know me, the more suspicions would arise, and yet I wanted to keep Bella by my side, officially as my girlfriend.  My girlfriend.  How silly that word seemed!

She began to gather her books awkwardly, and followed up with, “So is it my turn tomorrow, then?”

“Certainly not!”  I feigned outrage.  “I told you I wasn’t done, didn’t I?

“What more is there?”

Enough for forever.  “You’ll find out tomorrow.  Her hands were full, and so I reached across her to open the car door, not considering the ache of desire that I should have expected to wash over me.  I didn’t want to let that go without satiating it, but just as my will was weakening, I caught the sounds of two people I that would not be happy with my involvement with Bella: Billy and Jacob Black.  “Not good.”  The words escaped my lips without my permission.

“What is it?” Bella asked.

“Another complication.”  As if there weren’t enough already.

Despite my recent history of ignoring rules and conventions to the point of irresponsibility, there was no way I would dream of breaking the treaty between my family and the tribe.  I had to leave before they came—if they saw me, who knows if I would ever see Bella again.

In my rush to get Bella out of the car so that I could speed away, I gave her the simplest explanation.  “Charlie’s around the corner.”  She would understand the other reason for my rush soon.  She hopped out of the car, and I bolted down the street.

************

I decided it would be worthless to stay close enough to hear Billy and Jacob Blacks’ thoughts, as I already knew exactly how they felt.  I decided to go home for a few hours until I was fairly certain that Bella would be asleep.  Since I hadn’t been around much in the last few weeks, I decided to spend some quality time with my family.  Alice and Jasper were the only ones home, as Carlisle was at the hospital and Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett were out hunting.  Since Jasper and I weren’t as evenly matched as me and Alice, she and I played one of our silent, motionless chess matches while he went upstairs to read.  I won two games out of three—it was easier to keep my mind off of my future moves when it was so filled with images of Bella.  It was frustrating for her, both because she hated being out of control, and also because didn’t see herself meeting Bella in the immediate future.  She scowled as she laid down her king, then jumped up and stuck her tiny tongue out at me.

“That’s not very good sportsmanship!” I teased.

_You know that’s not why I’m annoyed!_

I infuriated her by accusing innocently, “I don’t know, Alice.  I can’t detect any other reason for your annoyance besides losing the game.  I guess it’s just so strong….”  Of course, she knew that I knew that that wasn’t true.  I smiled fondly when she growled quietly and leapt up the stairs to complain about me to Jasper.

The three couples I lived with were so perfectly matched in every way.  However, though my love for Bella was stronger than any love I had ever felt between other people—between Carlisle and Esme even—I would never get to share the same experiences with her.  As tempting as she was, as strong as my desire to be with her was, it felt horridly unfair, to the point of being comical, that that certain avenues were barred from us forever.  I laughed dryly to myself, preparing to commence my nightly sprint to Bella’s house.  Just before I left, I heard Alice’s stern voice in my head.  _Edward!_ she admonished harshly. _That’s it, if you are going to be with Bella on Saturday, you and I are going hunting tomorrow!_   My heart felt like it split down the middle at the agonizing vision that darted out of Alice’s mind as quickly as it darted in.  It was fleeting, and not very strong, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.  I responded to her silent command by resolutely deciding to obey as I practically flew out the door in my state of despair.

There was no evidence that Bella’s mood echoed mine at all, as she slept very soundly that night.  By morning, her peacefulness had eased the turmoil boiling inside of me down to a mere simmer.  As I watched her that night, I marveled at how much control she had over me, how inextricably my happiness was tied to hers.  When she felt pain, I felt pain.  When she felt restless, it made me nervous too.  Her smile invariably made my heart swell with life, and her tears withered it back to the cold, dead state it was in.  It was true that every emotion was tainted with a never-ending discontentment.  It was true that every selfish desire to hold her, to call her mine, filled me with self-loathing.  It was true that my longing for her blood and her body filled me with disgust for myself.  And yet, what was I to do?  I lived for her.  And more than that, as improbable and horridly unfair as it seemed, it was becoming clear that (dare I say it?  Dare I even think it?) she wanted me, too.  And, anything she could ever ask for, I would find a way to give her.  If it truly was me that she wanted, I would find a way to give myself to her.


End file.
